


No Wrong Way To Love A...

by neomeruru



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-06-07 11:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15218360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru/pseuds/neomeruru
Summary: A home for short FFXV fills.





	1. Gen, Ignis has an older brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [this prompt on the kinkmeme.](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5690.html?thread=10562106#cmt10562106)

He can feel Noctis's eyes burning into the side of his head when the herald announces _Lord Felix Agra Scientia, Duke of Leide, Knight of the First Order of the Scepter and Member of the King's Privy Council_ , and they remain so through the entirety of the rest of the announcements and early pleasantries, right up until Ignis takes his seat at his right hand for the royal address.

"Ignis, what the fu—" is as far as he gets before Ignis reaches over and puts a silencing hand on his arm behind the cover of the thick tablecloth.

"If there are no lip readers in attendance, your Highness, there certainly will be when people start circulating clips of you appearing to swear while your father is speaking," Ignis murmurs, smiling lightly for the cameras as he does.

Noctis flushes angrily and looks away, though the reminder does keep his eyes trained dutifully on his father as he welcomes the court. Ignis raises his glass at the appropriate times and does not scan the room as he wishes.

When the King sits again and the servants come forward with the first course, Noctis's eyes are upon him again.

Ignis carefully unfolds his napkin and waits for Noctis to take the lead in the conversation, which he does with his characteristic grace and tact:

"You didn't tell me your uncle was _hot_ ," Noctis hisses, and the smile that twists in the corner of Ignis's mouth is genuine.

"As I highlighted in the peerage reports last month," he says, speaking over Noctis's groan at the mention of _reports_ , "my uncle is in declining health, and recently abdicated his title. _That_ person," he continues, gesturing, "is the new Duke of Leide."

He can practically see Noctis searching through his memory of the ridiculous geometry of inheritance, a faint line of concentration on his brow that deepens when he inevitably comes to the right conclusion. " _Six_ , that's _Felix_? Felix, as in, your brother Felix?"

"Mmm," Ignis agrees, smoothing his napkin as a servant sets down a steaming basket of herbed rolls. "The one and the same."

Noctis lets out a low whistle. "I haven't seen him since—"

"The Glacian's Festival seven years ago, yes," Ignis finishes, "In fact, it's been as long for me as well."

"You haven't seen your own brother in _seven years?_ " Noctis gapes, only closing his mouth when Ignis discreetly pantomimes lifting his own jaw. "Not even once?"

Ignis butters a roll, carefully looking at neither Noctis nor the silver and purple heraldry fluttering just out of his eyeline. "Oh, we exchange letters, of course. Truth be told, we had little in common until he answered the Crown. He's much more of a..." Ignis does look up then, making a so-so gesture with his knife, "...fox hunts and smoking rooms kind of person. He has a family, now — a daughter, of four years I believe, and a son that was just born this new year."

Noctis puts his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, ignoring the disapproving look Ignis gives him over a mouthful of bread. "You haven't even met your niece and nephew," he deduces, judgement in his voice.

"It's not like I've had the time," Ignis demurs, immediately regretting it when Noctis's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline.

"Oh, no you don't," Noctis says, leaning in. "You're not getting away that easily." Ignis despairs that Noctis thinks anything in Ignis's life is _easy_ , but then already Noctis is gesturing for a page and giving her instructions.

"Noct," Ignis chides, but Noctis just smiles his sleepy cat-like smile and tucks into his bread as the page does her work.

If Felix is surprised by the summons, he doesn't look it from where Ignis is sitting. He excuses himself from his table and retinue and follows the page to stand before Noctis.

"His Royal Highness, Noctis Lucis Caelum," the page announces smoothly, bowing deeply before leaving them.

The King pauses in conversation on their other side, casting a curious look at the three before turning back. Noctis is a prince, after all, with all the ability to act at his discretion at royal functions, even if it does make Ignis feel rather like a fish in a bowl when he does so. And the room is structured as such that, though they're the subject of more curious glances from the peers at their tables, conversations at the head table remain private enough.

"I wished to extend my personal congratulations," Noctis addresses Felix, who bows slightly with his fist on his chest. "Your uncle served the Crown for many years, and I am looking forward to seeing you step into his shoes."

Ignis manages to keep himself from gawping at Noctis's suddenly regal comportment, though he makes a note to draft a letter of gratitude to his tutors. Perhaps a fruit basket. Perhaps two fruit baskets, and a bottle of Accordan red.

Felix rises from his bow and clasps his hands behind his back, looking relaxed despite the irregularity of being summoned to the high table. "It is my honour and pleasure, your Highness." His eyes flick over to Ignis for a bare second before settling back on Noctis. "As my family before me, I as well look forward to serving you. House Scientia, as always, pledges unwavering fealty to the line of Lucis."

Noctis has that little smile on his face again as he puts his chin in his hand. "The bonds between our families run deep, don't they?"

Ignis can see discomfort start to dawn in Felix's eyes. "Yes, your Highness."

Noctis tilts his head in his hands. "We could almost be brothers, don't you think?"

Both Felix and Ignis stiffen in alarm the same way, but it's Ignis that sputters, "Y-your Highness," while a red flush creeps up Felix's pale skin. "That's hardly appropriate!"

Noctis waves them both off with an insouciant gesture. "Don't get all twisted up, Specs," he replies, and it's Ignis's turn to blush while Felix shoots him a disbelieving look. "I only mean to say, I consider Ignis practically my brother," he continues, his smile revealing the sharp corners of his his teeth. "Which makes us, in a way, brothers in spirit."

Ignis _knows_ Noctis to be wicked when he gets in his moods, and resigns himself to the embarrassment. Felix seems similarly afflicted, at least, opening and closing his mouth a few times trying to process this seeming non-sequitur.

"As.. your Highness says, it must be true," Felix finally manages, though Ignis doesn't see his expression as his eyes have seemingly slipped closed of their own accord.

"As you know, I have no siblings," Noctis drawls, toying with the conversation as a coeurl with a hare, "Through Ignis I get a glimpse into what it would be like to call someone my brother. I am grateful to him, and to your House for seconding him to me."

At the lack of a direct question, Felix wisely opts to remain silent. Ignis longs for the floor to swallow him as Noctis turns his gaze to him. "Wasn't there something you wanted to tell him, Iggy?"

Ignis takes one swallow of his wine glass, then another, then sets it down with exaggerated care while he considers his options. Faking a poisoning seems like too much drama, but only by a slim margin. "Yes— I—" he tries, then clears his throat. "How are you, brother?"

Felix looks just as discomfited as he feels. "I am well, thank you," he answers stiffly.

"And the children?"

"Also well, by the blessing of the Six. Nanny tells me Augustin is nearly sleeping through the night."

"That's... good?" Ignis replies, eyes darting to Noctis to gauge whether he deems this farce to have run its course. From the satisfied look on his face, Ignis guesses not. "And, erm, your wife...?"

"Taken to bedrest after the birth, but stronger with every day that passes," Felix replies. "And, ah, yourself? How is life in the capital city?"

Ignis waits a long beat, not breaking Felix's gaze. "Acceptable," he answers finally, pleased at the little smile that tweaks his brother's lips at the faint praise.

"Isn't that nice?" Noctis interjects with a smile, "You should spend time with each other more often."

Ignis knows what is a royal decree and what is not, after long exposure to Noctis's irreverent regard for his own power. Felix, however, has no such experience, and his eyes go wide.

"Of course, your Highness," Felix gets out all in a rush, bowing deeply. "I will call on my brother at his earliest convenience, if it pleases you."

Noctis sits back in his chair, arms crossed. "Oh, it pleases me. Does it please you, Ignis?"

Ignis purses his lips and does not sigh. "Yes, your Highness."

"Good," Noctis says. "Nothing more important than _brothers_ ," he croons, emphasizing the word.

A servant comes by and pauses, waiting for an opening to refill their wine glasses, and it seems to break the spell Noctis has cast over their little fête. He waves Felix away. "Please, don't let us keep you. Enjoy your dinner, Lord Scientia."

"Thank you, your Highness; brother," Felix says, bowing one more time. A page comes in from the wings to take him back to his table, leaving Ignis to stare into space in muted, awkward horror.

"That was nice," Noctis muses, waiting as the servant pours more wine into his glass. "If he's one-tenth as good as you, he'll be okay."

Ignis snatches his glass as soon as it's full. "Yes, thank you, _your Highness_ ," he says facetiously, draining it in one go. The servant, brow slightly raised, circles back to refill it.

Noctis laughs, a cheerful little thing that nonetheless Ignis feels like a slap. "You only get one family, Iggy."

 _That's not entirely true_ , Ignis thinks, while punishing another bread roll in his hands. But, some thoughts are inside thoughts, and though Noctis can be free with whom he calls brother, Ignis would never presume the opposite. Royal prerogative, not the heartsick desires of a servant of the Crown.

The night passes without further incident - not counting Noctis deliberately disrespecting his dance card by putting Felix through his paces on the dance floor and, undoubtedly, using the time to put all sorts of ideas in his head.

Ignis knows this, because when he returns to his suites well ( _well_ ) after midnight, dress shoes in hand, there's already a calling card slipped under his door.

 _Felix Agra Scientia_ , embossed in silver, and handwritten on the back: _My brother, it's been too long._

Ignis smiles and slips it into the frame of his dressing mirror, where it'll remind him tomorrow, and falls face-first and still clothed into bed until morning.


	2. Noctis/Iris: An Heir and a Spare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is hatched to continue the line of Lucis, should Noctis not survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a '100 words of being "Noct'd up"' challenge.
> 
> This chapter makes reference to underage sex, though it does not happen during the fic. There's also a reference to Noctis not being attracted to women.

"For the record," Gladio grumbled, crossing his arms, "I hate every part of this."

"Yeah, it's not exactly my favorite thing either," Noctis said, mirroring Gladio's stance. It was somewhat less impressive, but he was trying. It was all he really could do; not just for this, but for his kingdom in general, which was what had brought them to this point.

Ignis didn't _sigh_ , exactly; he did that thing where he took in a long breath and held it, letting it out slowly before he spoke. "It's already been decided, Gladio. Iris has agreed, Noctis has agreed, and it must be tonight, or we risk losing an entire month. And there are simply no other options — so few women of noble stock remain whom can be trusted with this level of subterfuge."

"It's _illegal_ —"

Ignis cut Gladio off with one raised hand. "There is legal precedent, in the case of royal marriages."

Gladio spread his palms, pleading. His eyes were red around the edges from the tears he must have been holding back - or maybe he'd shed some earlier, talking it over with Iris. "That's the thing, Iggy: they ain't even _married_. She's got no legal protection. She's getting nothing outta this except _his_ bastard she's gotta raise herself."

Noctis scrubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Only a bastard if the worst doesn't come to pass in Altissia," Ignis said, quietly. "Should we require it, the papers have already been falsified and hidden with the right people. A royal marriage in exile, preempting the treaty; an unexpected true love match between Caelum and Amicitia. She'll be a queen regent."

"I'll take care of her," Noctis interjected then, making Ignis and Gladio turn to him.

"She ain't a _pet_ ," Gladio bit out. "She'll need— _they'll_ need— more than a handful of gysahl greens and a warm bed. How you gonna be there for them, when you're married to the princess, huh?"

Gladio's finger landed squarely in the middle of Noctis's chest, tipping him over. When he spoke again, it came out angry and loud in the little run-down hotel hallway. "She was born to be your Shield, not your fucking _mistress_! My kid sister deserves better than carrying your spare!"

"Keep your fucking voice down!" Noctis pushed back, knocking Gladio's hand away. "I hate this, okay! I don't even like girls like that!"

"She likes _you_ , you ungrateful little shit," Gladio seethed, "You're taking advantage of her, and you know it. She'd do anything for you, just like me. It ain't even fair to _ask_."

Noctis opened his mouth to reply in kind, but was interrupted by a high voice from within the room. "Gladdy?" Iris called. "Gladdy, it's okay, I promise. I want to do this. We gotta make sure everything's gonna be okay."

Gladio shot Noctis a look entirely thunderclouds and lightning, his mouth a tight, unhappy line. He shoulders rose and fell as he sighed in defeat. "I hate this," he muttered, pitching it low so Iris couldn't eavesdrop. "This is the shittiest thing you've ever done. I ain't gonna forgive you for this."

"Yeah, whatever," Noctis said, slumping where he stood. "Get in line."

It took a few tense seconds of eye contact, but Gladio moved to the side to let Noctis pass. Ignis clapped him on the shoulder when he got his hand on the doorknob.

"I have faith you'll do your best with the situation, Noctis," Ignis said. "If you require assistance with the mechanics, you need only ask."

Noctis had to laugh a little at that, feeling guilty. "How hard can it be, Specs?"

A faint smile played over Ignis's expression. "You'd be surprised, your Highness."

Noctis nodded and steeled himself a moment before turning the doorknob. Inside the hotel room, Iris was sitting primly on the bed with her hands in her lap. She was wearing a long white t-shirt in lieu of the nightclothes she undoubtedly couldn't take with her during the evacuation of Insomnia.

The bed dipped as he sat down beside her, and she turned her head to him without moving the rest of her body. "Hey," Noctis greeted her, looking at the floor.

"Hello, your Highness," she said softly. "I'm sorry this is so—"

"It's okay," he said, risking a glance up at her. He skipped her bare legs, trying to focus on her face. Her expression was calm, resolved. So much like Gladio, when he's not angry. They both just give, and give. Six, he didn't deserve any of it. He didn't deserve the bad things — didn't deserve to have his father or his kingdom ripped away from him — but he didn't deserve the goodness, either. Didn't deserve this devotion. "It's okay," he repeated.

Iris put her hand palm-up on the bed between them, and Noctis took it with a sigh. "You wanna just sit for a bit?" she asked, lacing their fingers. "We have all night to get there."

"Yeah," Noctis said. "Yeah, let's start there."


	3. Gen, Ignis handles RPF about Noctis

Shortly after the Prince turned eighteen, "it" had become part of Ignis's job.

Prior to that, of course, "it" had been illegal, and had been less a matter of propriety than it had been a matter for the Kingsglaive and the courts. Despite Ignis's many-pronged service the the Crown, he had been spared exposure to any potentially scarring material.

But, Noctis is over the age of majority, and one more task falls to Ignis now.

"It" is an innocuous folder on his desk in the morning, like so many others of a significantly less salacious nature. He prefers to get it out of the way early, with the distraction of a still-warm coffee in one hand as he scrolls through the words and tries to skim the content without internalizing it.

His assistant has already done the work of scraping the tags and summarizing them into a cover sheet. Ignis scans the list of parties with a disinterested gaze — there's little that surprises him, after the fascination with significantly older men a few months ago.

As usual, Ignis features prominently, as does Gladio. There's always a fair number of names Ignis doesn't recognize, which he mentally classifies as harmless self-insertion fantasies. Recently, Prompto has been appearing with more frequency, which would make Ignis smile if it weren't for the nature of his appearances.

His job involves monitoring alternative fictional media for anything potentially damaging to His Highness's public image. Ignis is grateful that fantasies involving the mere _possibility_ of the Prince being interested in men — even if rendered in excruciatingly explicit detail — aren't considered damaging; he's able to discard fully three-quarters of anything that crosses his desk, which spares him quite a bit of time. That leaves him only the more questionable pairings and tags to review personally.

It's a slow day, it seems. By the time he crosses out the inoffensive material, there's only a few that need his attention: one involving His Majesty, four featuring nonconsensual activities of various stripes, and one featuring an alternative reality wherein the Prince is an Imperial sleeper agent. There's one involving a significant number of Kingsglaive, upon which Ignis deliberates before flagging it for review; it could be considered depicting a gross abuse of power, though it depends on the particular configuration of bodies.

Ignis sighs as he wakes his laptop and navigates to the story in question. It's not that he doesn't understand the impulse — it's true, Noctis _has_ grown into a handsome young man, and powerful besides, with a cool demeanor that inspires contemplation of his... _hidden depths_ , pun intended. Ignis, having grown up with him, has a wildly different interpretation of the Prince's nature, but he supposes he cannot begrudge the Prince's fans for glossing over the realities of Noctis's mundane life. Vanishingly few of these speculative pieces of fiction involve emptying the Prince's bedside garbage can, or proofreading his assignments, or nursing him bouts of gastrointestinal distress. Too real, perhaps, for fantasy.

He doesn't have to read far into the story he's reviewing to determine that it's destined to be escalated; it's a fairly standard 'the Kingsglaive act as a royal harem' trope with little objectionable besides the premise — everyone seems to be consenting in this one, which is a novel twist — but unfortunately it isn't proper to undermine the legitimacy of the Glaive either, so he flags it with the others.

From there, it's out of his hands; he files the folder in his outbox, and his assistant will take it and deliver it to a team of frighteningly competent men and women who'll track down the author and contact them privately - sometimes in person, if the breach of decency is severe enough. Ignis has counseled his team to approach these conversations with compassion and a light touch; they may find the content objectionable and sometimes... well, extraordinarily strange — the week after Gladio'd mistakenly made a 'Noct'd up' pun in public had been an interesting one — but this degree of public interest in the monarchy, in their humanity with all its messiness, is a net good for the kingdom.

His coffee's empty by the time he's done, but it's no matter — he has just enough time to review the rest of his morning's correspondence before the first meeting of the day, and Ignis tucks into it gladly.


	4. Ignis/Noctis, Ignis is a coeurl hybrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis has been away from his pet for too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off of another fill on FFA, where Ignis is a coeurl/cat hybrid in a world where hybrids are generally considered subhuman. Noctis is Ignis's "master" in this AU, because hybrids have no social standing and interact with society either as pets/companion animals or as masterless ferals. Ignis struggles with downplaying his animal characteristics in order to be taken seriously in the world of humans, only allowing himself to indulge in his more animal instincts in private with Noctis.
> 
> With respect to the original anon who posted a much gentler and softer vignette, whoever you are - you sparked an avalanche of emotion in me, and I couldn't help write my own version of the trope in a much sadder era. :D

It's not the first thing he thinks of.

It's not the second, or even the third. Shamefully, it doesn't even occur to him until he's already at Hammerhead, the truck idling at his back and three figures coming out of the inky shadow of the diner, that he's been missed desperately as more than a king and a friend.

"What's all this," he asks, as his brothers approach. Gladio, seeming impossibly taller and more rugged than before. Prompto, gone all hard and lean and yet still brighter than the world has any right to bear. And in Prompto's hands: a pole leash, clipped around a thick collar that has no business being around Ignis's neck.

Gladio and Prompto shift uncomfortably. Ignis reveals even less, only takes to his knees at Prompto's side and waits, hands palm-up on his thighs. The collar clips on the sides to a muzzle, obscuring the parts of his face unscarred from his trials in Altissia. His remaining eye is fixed in the middle distance, though his tawny ears twitch at every scuff of their boots.

It's not in a king to kneel, but Noct's interest in propriety has taken something of a hit after ten years. His brace thuds uncomfortably in the hard-packed ash of the parking lot, but he pays it no heed; his hands are already unclipping the pole leash and following the heavy leather of the collar around to the back.

"It's not locked," Gladio mutters, pitching his voice low to escape the notice of the nearby hunters pretending not to watch their reunion.

"Good," Noctis bites out. He's not trying to judge them, he really isn't—he's the one who left. Ten years. He may as well have set the feral recaptors on Ignis himself, before he left. He can't blame Gladio and Prompto for being forced to keep up appearances. A hybrid without a master is dangerous, or so they say. Ignis always tried so hard to distinguish himself from the coeurl in his blood, but after so long being treated as more monster than man, anyone might break under the strain of repeatedly having to prove otherwise or face euthanasia. Even Ignis. 

His fingers tremble as he fumbles with the buckle of the collar. Between them, Ignis's hands creep forward, turning over to wrap around Noctis's thighs. His nails dig in.

The sound that escapes Ignis when the collar comes away, carrying the muzzle with it, is half moan, half growl. Noctis lets it fall, scratching his fingers up the base of Ignis's skull and into where his hair gives way to fine fur. Ignis falls forward into him, drawn to the join of Noct's neck and shoulder as if pulled there by lodestone as Noct rubs circles behind his ears.

"Noct," Ignis breathes out, voice thick with disuse.

"It's okay," Noctis murmurs, rubbing his cheek against Ignis's hair. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I left you for so long."

Ignis _whines_ , a sound Noct's heard so rarely that it makes his chest seize up with the need to do _anything_ to make it stop. He tilts his head to the side to bare his neck, and Ignis buries his face there, breathing in and out so heavily that Noct can feel his skin grow damp.

"Come on," Noct encourages, rolling his shoulder.

Ignis is hesitant at first, just a slow drag of his cheek up under Noct's jaw. When Noct doesn't pull away, he does it again, harder, his hands coming up to circle around his arms, kneading unconsciously as he scents Noctis. Over and over, until there must be no difference in their scents even after ten long years.

Gladio clears his throat as he bends down to pick up the collar from the dirt. "We should get inside. Before people get curious."

Noctis gasps as pain prickles up from where Ignis's teeth have taken hold of him. It's just a nip—so much like the coeurl Ignis _isn't_ —but he can't be imagining the way tension snaps in the air, all the observers waiting only for him to lose control of _his feral_.

He slides his hands from Ignis's ears to his jaw, gently pulling him away. Ignis huffs, but Noctis just leans in and butts their foreheads together. "Okay. Inside. I promise you can make me regret it as long as you want."


	5. Ignis/Noctis, Ignis is vamp!Noct's bloodbag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for '100 words of Ignis just fucking dying'

The plan he'd had for tonight unravels as soon as Noctis walks through the door, pale and drawn and immediately wrapped around Ignis. He's as cold as the grave, sucking Ignis's warmth from him even through so many layers of clothes. He wears more now, unable to regulate his own body temperature more days than not. It's been a trying few months for them both, a deep drain on Noct's fledgling magical resources.

"...sorry, 'm so hungry..." Noctis mumbles into Ignis's collarbone. Ignis reaches up and starts undoing the clasps at his throat, baring a sliver of warm skin into which Noctis presses his face and inhales deeply, letting out a shivery moan on the exhale. "I really need it..."

In this regard, Ignis is no servant. He feels at liberty to run his fingers through Noct's silky hair, pressing him gently into the crook of his neck. "So soon after the last time," he remarks, without judgement. "Tomorrow we will have the haemagician make a note of it."

Noct's lips close around the meat of his neck, sucking lightly. Ignis looks towards the door, where a Crownsguard stands warily on the threshold as if uncertain whether his services are needed. Ignis nods, and the Guard slips in and closes the door silently behind him. He takes a small glass vial from his pocket, glowing faintly red in the dim foyer, and shows it to Ignis.

"Noctis," Ignis coaxes, just as his prince's teeth nip at his skin, "Noct, shall we lie down?"

Noct's hands grip him around his middle more tightly. "No," he murmurs. Ignis closes his eyes and lets the ancient magic of compulsion wash over him, filling him with opiate pleasure. "Here," Noct insists.

"A... classic, my love," Ignis replies, feeling his eyelids grow heavy as he surrenders to being held up entirely by Noct's supernatural strength. His awareness shrinks down to only the places where Noctis touches him, lighting up in his dwindling mind's eye like plasma glow.

He can feel Noctis's surge of gratefulness through their bond as his teeth puncture the skin of Ignis's neck, a clean bite that gushes hot blood into Noctis's mouth. Noctis's lips form a seal as he takes greedily from that vital fountain, swallowing and swallowing as Ignis's lifeblood empties from him and replenishes Noctis.

It doesn't hurt. It's never hurt, even at the beginning when Noct's teeth were clumsy and he was needy, so needy, starving all the time and snapping like a wild animal until they realized what he needed. He feels himself getting lighter, sinking deeper.

He needn't worry. Noctis will not allow him to linger in the world of the living longer than needs must, at the mercy of the poison that would turn him into a being such as Noctis himself. A phoenix down, administered by the Guard as Noctis drifts away into a satiated slumber, will cleanse him of it, and heal his wounds besides, and it will be Ignis's turn to take Noctis in his arms.

Noctis will be whole and warm, pliant, beloved — every inch of him the man he could have been were it not for that fateful attack on the eight-year-old Prince, draining him forever of the soul that should have nourished his birthright.

This thought settles over him like a shroud, deafening his senses, cleaving him from reality and into the wholly subsuming pleasure of becoming, in some small part, _Noctis_. His blood in Noct's body, his _soul_ in Noct's body, alchemizing into the power of kings — the highest service, the highest reward. He carries this thought into the darkness as the veil of death drops from around him, allowing him to glimpse, if only for a moment, his eternal rest on the other side.


	6. Gen: Gladio carries the reincarnation of Noctis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for '100 words of Gladio mpreg'

They think it's a tumor at first, which is terrifying. Retrospectively, that's probably the funniest part. Noctis would have gotten a kick out of it.

Sure, the dawn's returned, but it's not like everything gets up and running right away. Five months after the Dawn, when Gladio starts to notice that he's filled out a lot more than everyone else has post-rationing, it not exactly worth seeing a doctor for. He's been working like a dog on the reconstruction efforts, hard physical labour every day. Of course his weight comes back on as hard muscle in his core. That's normal.

But then he gets _big_. Like, weirdly big, losing definition and getting rounder and heavier. Embarrassingly, it makes him waddle when he walks, and even that's harder too; sometimes, he can't even get up a couple flights of stairs without feeling dizzy with exhaustion.

Ignis makes him go to the doctor, then. Sits with him and holds his hand when the doctor solemnly tells him they simply don't know what's wrong. Without magic, and without specialized laboratories - and there's not many of those left, because those were mostly Niflheimr and everything _there_ went to shit in the dark - their best guess is that it's cancer.

"That does explain the nausea," Ignis tells him later, as if solving the riddle of whatever's fucking killing him might make him feel better.

Weirdly, it does. So, he's got cancer. So, all the magic and medicine that might have cured him fifteen years ago isn't around any more. So, the two remaining operating rooms are so booked with actual emergencies, he's pretty far down the list given how far along he already is. So, he's not gonna live to see Iris walk down the aisle - ain't gonna live to see _himself_ walk down the aisle, honestly, and his fiancee is broken-hearted but she gets it because she already lived through hell once, and she knows it'll kill Gladio faster to put her through it again, watching him die. She packs her stuff up and leaves with a sad look and a loving admonishment to call if he needs anything.

He works. He works _hard_. And a couple months later, he's down on his knees in three inches of sewage clutching his gut, moaning, absolutely certain he's gonna split apart like an overripe fruit.

They get him into surgery. An emergency, now that he's probably kicking it. Probably Ignis's doing, doing what he can within the system. He's awake - he's so fucking scared, he doesn't want to die - and then he's not.

Nothingness.

He opens his eyes, not to the heavenly fields of the place on the other side, but to the harsh glare of overhead hospital lights. Then the pain comes in, dull and inescapable. "Nngh," he moans.

A hand in his, immediately, and a click, and the pain subsides like snuffing a candle. He licks his lips. "Muh," he tries again.

"Ssh," Ignis soothes him, brushing away the hair sticking to his forehead. "Ssh. When you're fully awake, I have quite a story to tell you."

\--

She doesn't cry. At all. It's all the nurses can talk about. That, and her eyes: bright blue, with long dark lashes that match the inky mop of dark curls on her head. She doesn't even thrash around like other babies, seemingly perfectly content to lie in Prompto's arms and calmly observe the world around her. It's deeply weird.

Gladio's on the birth certificate as both the father and the mother.

They checked - like, they really, really got in there and _checked_ \- she's a fucking miracle. A literal miracle. Gladio's still got all the parts he was born with, and none he wasn't, and yet, here she is, pulled screaming and pink from his cut-open belly like a figure from a myth. He's got researchers and media swarming outside the hospital, waiting for a glimpse of the baby everyone knows looks like the late king.

Noctis. His heart hurts when he looks at that little girl, because it's _so fucking obvious_ that she's some kinda hinky little god child, like they chewed up Noctis like tobacco and spat into Gladio and she was what came out.

He can't bear to look at her, but there's no shortage of hands to pick up the slack. She doesn't have a name yet and she's already got an army of aunties and uncles doting oh her, her own little royal household. She's sweet, and calm. She loves to sleep.

It's Prompto who forces his hand all the time, breezily depositing her beside Gladio in bed and taking off to go take a shit for an hour, or whatever he does. Gladio's bedridden from the massive abdominal surgery, it's not like he can get up. He can't ignore her then, not the way she just lies there and stares at him like _she's_ waiting for _him_ to talk. He doesn't know what he expects. Like, if he touches her, maybe he's scared he'll get sucked into some prophecy. Like, Noctis will appear, whole and beautiful, and say some pretentious shit about how he'll always be with them in spirit and Gladio has to honour his duty as Shield to protect Noct's essence, or whatever.

Her chubby pink hand is hot to the touch when it wraps around his finger. Gladio isn't instantaneously transported to the vault of the Astrals, or anything like that. He looks into her eyes and she blinks calmly back, a tiny little baby smile curving the bow of her lips.

She doesn't have a name yet, but she has a dad. He'll figure it out.


	7. Gladio/Gilgamesh, Gladio/Noctis, past Gilgamesh/Ardyn: Gladio and his baby get a visit from Ardyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for '100 words of Gladio mpreg'

He's reading a book, and then he's not. His hand is frozen on the page, mid-turn. His chest rises and falls, steady and mechanical, out of his control entirely.

He can still move his eyes, albeit slowly, and the first place he looks is the faded bassinet at the end of the couch. Aster shifts fitfully in her sleep, making little honking noises like any two-week-old. Gladio watches as the shadows darken and lengthen around her, oozing into a shadow the shape of a man. The darkness bleeds from him, leaving Ardyn standing before the bassinet, an amused smile on his lips.

"I've come to pay my respects," he says, "to the future Queen of Lucis."

Ardyn stares at Aster for a long time, head bowed as if in prayer. Gladio fights it as hard as he can, but nothing breaks the paralysis. Finally, Ardyn looks to him again. "Imagine my surprise, then, that my assumption was wrong. My, but you have been a dirty boy, haven't you. And you do keep it _all in the family_ , as they say."

He's able to bear his teeth, so he does, growling at Ardyn as Ardyn reaches into the bassinet and takes Aster in his arms. She kicks and grunts, her little red face screwing up as she opens her gummy mouth in displeasure. "Oh, but I haven't felt this energy in some time," Ardyn coos at her. "Not since you thrust your spear into my side all those years ago, my love. To this day, I have debated whether it was an act of hatred or mercy."

"Let... go..." Gladio grits out. Aster begins to hiccup her little cry for help.

"Babies are more observant than we give them credit for, don't you think?" Ardyn asks. His voice sounds deeper, and when he turns back to Gladio his eyes are oozing black tar. "Fresh eyes, fresh minds, unburdened by the scales of time and prejudice."

More carefully that Gladio expects, Ardyn places Aster back in the bassinet and tucks her in. "Do take good care of her," he says, as his form melts back into the shadows. "One can never be certain what dangers lie in the dark."


	8. Gen: Ignis is good at videogames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for '100 words of Ignis just fucking dying'

The thing with Ignis is: no one expects him to be so good at video games.

"Argh!" Noctis yells, on the verge of throwing his controller at the screen. Eighteen rounds and Ignis hasn't lost _once_. He knows combos Noctis didn't even know existed. At a rate of one page per loss, Noctis is going to end up having to read the whole damned textbook this weekend instead of the single chapter he resisted. "Come on! Just fucking die, already!"

Ignis only smiles and tosses a piece of popcorn in his mouth -- literally tosses, his aim just as infuriatingly, effortlessly perfect as everything else he does. "Perhaps next time. Shall we go again?"


	9. Gen: Gladio and Ignis struggle through Zegnatus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for '100 words of Ignis just fucking dying'

They're bound to run out of phoenix downs eventually.

The thing they hadn't realized, though they probably should have, is that Ardyn's weird magic is thick here, tangled like a fishing net and they're the fucking fish. It started out benign, but room after room Ardyn learns what really yanks their chain until every new room is a fucking horrorshow: what new and inventive ways can he contrive to kill Ignis again?

The first time they realized they were in for the longest death march in existence, Ardyn didn't even need to use a weapon. Ignis was walking, still wary after the last room with the fucking spikes, and then he wasn't. He was just gone, like that, like somewhere Ardyn had snapped his fingers and Ignis's heart had just stopped. He'd crumpled to the ground, inelegant in a way he would have hated in life, and Gladio'd held his unblemished corpse in his arms as he administered the phoenix down.

"That was... unpleasant," Ignis had remarked.

Fifteen some-odd rooms later, he's kneeling in a pool of blood as Ignis crawls his way back from death like a corpse rising from the grave.

"I'm finding this tiresome," Ignis calls out, pitching his voice to be heard by whatever surveillance method Ardyn's got on them. "If you're expecting me to give up, I'm afraid you'll be waiting some time."

Gladio thinks about the handful of phoenix downs he has in his pockets--never fully trusted the armiger to never crap out, turns out he was right--and swallows away the lump of panic in his throat. They just have to figure out how to get back to Noct, maybe that'll be distracting enough for Ardyn to lay off. Maybe.


End file.
